


And Alpaca makes Three

by WaywardSpark



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpacas, Background Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Crack, Don't copy to another site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Inspired by group chat convo, M/M, Pets, author did minimal google research on alpaca behaviour, literally the crackiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 19:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20120527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSpark/pseuds/WaywardSpark
Summary: Mycroft brings home a new addition to the household. Greg hates it, until he doesn't.





	And Alpaca makes Three

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by many conversations on a twitter groupchat. I dedicate this to all of you.

“Mycroft Holmes. What. The hell. Is that.”

‘That’ happened to be an alpaca. A long-necked, fluffy, white alpaca, native to Peru, four feet and three inches tall, standing tall and obstinate beside Mycroft’s armchair, staring Greg in the eye with total defiance as he chewed on a leaf from a plant Greg bought last week. Greg didn’t care much about that (though he was a bit pissed off). What he was most in shock about was how completely unbothered Mycroft appeared in response to this new addition to their home; with one hand, he was stroking the alpaca’s back, while he held a book in his other hand. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, so clearly he was far more interested in his book than the fact that there was an _alpaca_ in his _living room._

Without looking up, Mycroft replied. “He’s an alpaca, my dear. He’s a gift.”

“A gift?!” Greg repeated. “From who?”

“From whom,” Mycroft corrected, much to Greg’s growing frustration. “He is from the Canadian ambassador. He breeds them and gave one to me as a thank you for helping him with - well, it’s a trivial, diplomatic matter that would undoubtedly bore you. Not to mention confidential. Cup of tea?”

“I think I’ll need something stronger,” Greg said faintly, as Mycroft left for the kitchen, leaving Greg alone with this audacious alpaca, who is tearing yet another leaf off of Greg’s plant. All his exhaustion and weariness from the day had evaporated from him at the sight of the alpaca, leaving him tense and wary as he stood dead still in the centre of the living room, in a staring contest with this animal.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gregory. He’s completely harmless.” Mycroft hands him a glass of brandy. “Sit down. You look dead on your feet. The office’s coffee machine was broken and you haven’t eaten properly since breakfast.”

Greg grunted in acknowledgement, long since used to Mycroft’s deductions. He collapsed onto the sofa. “Yeah. Pretty rough day. Double homicide, your brother was a dick as usual, and now there’s a bloody llama in my house!”

“Alpaca.”

“Tomay-to, tomah-to. Either way, he’s ruining my plants.”

“Well, he’s ours to take care of now. I fear you may have to bid your plants farewell.”

“What?” Greg lurched up. “No! Hell no. I’m not sacrificing my plants for some... thing I wasn’t even consulted on keeping! You’re going to give that back, or you’re handing it over to London zoo. And that’s final.”

Mycroft’s face fell. “I can’t do that.” He stroked the alpaca’s fur affectionately. “He’s already grown attached. And it would be a disrespect of the highest kind towards Canada. Heaven knows that’s the last thing this country needs right now...”

Greg stared agape, trying to muster the will to continue this argument, to yell, to do anything, but he knew that Mycroft was just as stubborn as he was. Besides, he was exhausted. “Sod this. I’m going to bed.”

Mycroft smiled, entirely ignorant. “Oh, in that case, I’ll finish my drink and join you - “

“Nope. You can sleep in the guest room. You and your stupid llama.” Greg stormed out, slamming the door behind him and thudding up the stairs pointedly. Downstairs, Mycroft muttered to himself quietly -

“It’s an alpaca.”

~  
**To: SHolmes@email.co.uk**

**From: GaryCal@canadamail.com**

**Re: re: re: favour**

**Dear Mr Holmes **

**Just emailing to let you know that I’ve done as asked with complete success. I still don’t quite understand the purpose but I hope to receive updates! This is quite exciting.**

**Thanks again for your assistance in helping my family. We could not be more grateful. This favour is truly the least I could do.**

**Regards**

**Gary Cal, ambassador**

~

Greg came downstairs the next morning, starving and praying with every cell in his body that the previous evening was just a weird exhaustion-fuelled hallucination. Alas, the alpaca lying on the kitchen floor proved otherwise.

“Morning, Gregory,” Mycroft smiled behind his morning cup of tea. “Are you over your little strop yet?”

The answering glare was more than sufficient.

“I see.” Mycroft delicately put the cup down. “Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“I live here too, Mycroft. I deserve a say.”

“Fine. Then you can have a say in what we name him.”

“That’s not what I - “

“I was thinking of honouring his heritage. Perhaps naming him after someone historically significant from Canada.”

“I’m fairly sure alpacas don’t come from Canada.”

“This one does,” Mycroft said firmly. “So. Any ideas, my dear?”

Greg pursed his lips in thought. He could refuse. He could stomp his feet and stand his ground and sleep separately from Mycroft until the end of time, but ultimately, they would both be miserable and the alpaca would still be here. So Greg decided to take this opportunity for his own small victory. He smiled pleasantly, “how about Ryan Reynolds?”

“Ryan Reynolds?” Mycroft frowned. “I can’t say I’ve heard of him. Is he a politician? A scientist? An innovator of some kind?”

“I would say he’s a... philanthropist. He’s brought joy to many across the world. Trust me, he’s the most significant Canadian I know.” 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, clearly think it over, then to Greg’s delight, he nodded. “I like it. Ryan Reynolds it is.”

Greg grinned. “You know what? I can get used to having Ryan Reynolds around the house.”

“So you’re no longer cross with me?”

“Oh, I am. But I know how you can make me feel better.”

“How?”

Greg leaned across the table and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “Make me breakfast.” Then he left to have his shower, already feeling alpaca-smell soaking into his clothes.

~

Mycroft tried to leave Ryan in the house while he was at the Diogenes Club, but between Greg being called into work for an emergency and Ryan’s wide, brown, pleading eyes, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him all alone at home, so soon after moving in. So he decided to bring him with. After all, who could stop him? His status made him untouchable. His power made him revered. He did not believe in total omnipotence, but he was certainly close.

Besides, who could say no to Ryan’s adorable face?

He managed to coax him into the car through carrots and sheer determination, push him into a seat opposite Anthea, who broke her concentration from her room to look up at the alpaca with complete shock. (Read: mild surprise with a dash of resignation.) 

“I see you have a new companion, Sir,” she remarked.

“Indeed. A gift from Canada. Tell me, what do you think of the name Ryan Reynolds?”

Anthea shrugged. “I’m more of a Gosling girl, Sir.”

Mycroft was uncertain of the connection between Canadian philanthropist Ryan Reynolds and baby geese, but disliked admitting to being ignorant of anything, so he nodded in agreement. 

~

On the second day, Mycroft had his assistants bring furniture for them to turn one of the guests rooms into Ryan’s rooms. He then watched with delight as Greg, despite his irritation and belief he has no reason to be involved in the alpaca’s life at all, assembled furniture in just his vest and trousers.

On the third day, they made a schedule so that they would each take it in turns to feed Ryan, play fetch with him, keep him company, and clean up after him. Greg couldn’t help but feel a little bit sadistically happy when it was Mycroft’s turn to clean up after Ryan, gagging and wrinkling his nose in protest. 

On the fourth day, Ryan bit Greg’s hand when he tried to feed him carrots. Later, Mycroft read him a bedtime story - Dante’s Inferno, in Italian. Greg couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as he listened to Mycroft’s soft, affectionate Italian.

On the fifth day, Ryan kicked over an antique vase of Mycroft’s. He pretended he didn’t care.

On the sixth day, Greg discovered the hard way that alpacas don’t like being stroked on the head. His bruises wouldn’t disappear for another week.

By the end of the first week with Ryan Reynolds the alpaca, Greg was scarred, battered, smelly, and frankly, traumatised. And yet, he carried on. Because he saw the love and affection thawing Mycroft’s usually cold exterior, and decided it would be incredibly hypocritical of him to take that away.

~

John came back from an evening down at the pub still giggling to himself, swaying slightly as he climbed up the stairs. 

Once he went to the loo, brushed his teeth, and stripped down into acceptable bed-wear, he climbed into bed behind Sherlock, who mumbled something under his breath as he was dragged out of sleep. 

“You’re in a good mood,” he murmured. “Heard you laughing.”

“Sorry. Just - you know your brother?”

“I’ve certainly heard of him, yes.”

“He’s got an alpaca.” John burst into giggles again, snickering into the back of his hand. Sherlock turned over to face him.

“And?”

“And he loves it. Never goes anywhere without it.”

John couldn’t see it in the darkness of their bedroom, but Sherlock’s face fell. “Oh. Disappointing.”

“Disappointing? It’s Mycroft! With an alpaca. I’d have thought you’d be thrilled to hear - ohh.” John turned on the lamp on his bedside table, then lifted his weight up on one elbow to observe Sherlock with narrowed eyes. “You have something to do with this don’t you?”

Sherlock smiled coyly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you wanted Mycroft to be miserable and confused so you somehow got him an alpaca.” When Sherlock turned his head to innocently look away, John poked him in the ribs, making him yelp entirely too loudly for that time of night. “I know it’s you. I know you too well.”

“Fine. I may have had a hand in getting an alpaca to him,” Sherlock admitted. “But this is your fault too.”

“Huh?”

“You suggested it." He raised his voice in a slight falsetto. "‘This sibling rivalry is unhealthy, Sherlock. You should express it in a safer way, like pranks, Sherlock. Like Harry and I did, to distract from the emptiness inside after our father abandoned us.'”

John frowned. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“I’m paraphrasing. Anyway, I took your advice.”

John snorted and shook his head. “Then that’s a terrible prank.” He turned his lamp off again, then curled up with his chest pressed against Sherlock’s back, his arm flung across him. “But it might cheer you up to know that Greg pretty much hates the alpaca.”

It did.

~

**To: GaryCal@canadamail.com**

**From: SHolmes@email.co.uk**

**Updates on favour**

**Dear Gary,**

**Mycroft is unfortunately delighted by alpaca and has become undeniably attached to it. Incredibly disappointing. Will have to try harder next time I attempt something of this nature.**

**On the plus side, his partner, a colleague of mine who also irritates me on a daily basis, hates the alpaca and has achieved the desired result. Overall, I would consider this a win.**

**Regards, **

**Sherlock Holmes**

~

It wasn’t that Greg hated Ryan. Yes, Ryan was a dick most of the time - breaking his things, spitting in his face, leaving his fur everywhere, while acting like a perfect angel around an adoring Mycroft - but he could never truly hate anything that brought such happiness into Mycroft’s life; he knew the basics of Mycroft’s childhood, his time with the CIA and MI5, the guilt he lived with and the stress he was constantly under at work, so he knew better than anyone how important this new pet was for him. As a result, he had a grudging respect for Ryan. Even if Ryan did not reciprocate.

But when Mycroft announced that he was to go on a diplomatic trip to India for a month and that Greg was to spend the entirety of those four weeks alone with Ryan, he couldn’t help the cold weight of dread that made an appearance in his stomach.

“You don’t have to go, surely,” Greg whined, watching from the bed as Mycroft started packing his suitcase a week in advance of the trip. “Can’t they send someone else?”

“As the most qualified and experienced in my department - “ Which is to say, the entire government - “I’m afraid that to leave this job in someone else’s hands would be to ensure failure.”

“What about leaving Ryan in my hands?” Greg replied testily. “We’re not exactly best mates.”

“I’d trust no one else to take care of him in my absence.” Mycroft closed his suitcase and lay down beside Greg on the bed. “You’re the only one who understands his importance to me. I know you can take care of him despite your... difficulties.”

“‘Difficulties,’” Greg snorted. “Difficulties don’t get me twenty new bruises a week. But fine. I’ll do it.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg softly. “Perfect. Thank you, Gregory.”

Later, lying together in bed and on the tipping point between being awake and asleep, Greg asked quietly. “Why do you care so much about him anyway?”

Mycroft was silent for a while, so much so that Greg thought he had fallen asleep already, until eventually, he spoke quietly, “I don’t know. It sort of... came over me when I met him.”

“You don’t even like animals.”

“Well, I suppose it’s just part of my pattern. To fall in love with something unexpected.”

Greg grinned, pressing a kiss to the back of Mycroft’s neck. “That’s not nearly as flattering as you think it is, but I’ll take it.”

~

“You have plenty of carrots and turnips, yes?”

“Yep.”

“You have my phone number, my work number, my emergency number, and my assistant’s number?”

“Have done since we got together.”

“The vet’s number?”

“Yes.”

“The Canadian ambassador’s number?”

“On the fridge.”

“And you know he gets frightened when you shut the bedroom door and turn the hall light off at night?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll read to him, won’t you? He has a fondness for Dickens but he also appreciates Paradise Lost - “

“Yes! Bloody hell, Mycroft, it’s only a month,” Greg laughed. “And I have been doing half the work with him for two months now, already. I’m not completely incompetent.”

“I know. I just worry so.” Mycroft sighed, collapsing onto the bed after his several minutes of pacing and interrogating Greg. “I dislike leaving him for even a moment.”

“He’s four years old. He’d be breeding by now if he was still part of a herd. He’s practically an adult.” Greg huffed out a laugh. “What a freeloader. We should be charging rent.”

“Don’t be silly dear. He’s family.” Mycroft sighed. “I’ll miss him.”

“He’ll miss you too. He loves you.” Greg rolled over to kiss the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. “So will I.”

“Aren’t you used to me going away by now?” Mycroft teased, pressing his lips to Greg’s in reciprocation, who moaned softly. “I thought you’d enjoy having the place to myself.”

“Well I don't have the place to myself anymore now, do I? Besides, I’ll always miss you.” Greg’s mouth moved to Mycroft’s jaw, pressing gentle kisses there as the other man softly exhaled and relaxed under his touch, a gentle heat coiling low in his stomach. He hated when Mycroft went away on his trips, having to spend weeks at a time alone in a too big, too cold bed, but very much enjoyed the intimacy that made up for it the night before. Now, the anticipation that had been simmering all day was finally coming to fruition -

_“Mmeeehhh”_

“What was that?” Mycroft lifted his head up off the pillow, craning his head to look at the shut door where the humming came from.

“Nothing. Nothing, love, ignore it.” Greg kissed his neck, his hand teasingly creeping up Mycroft’s hitched-up pyjama shirt, stroking the soft skin of his stomach -

_“Mmeeeehhh”_

“That was definitely Ryan.” Mycroft sat up fully, knocking Greg to the side. “Can I just - he’s probably hungry. Or lonely.”

_Or deliberately interrupting._ Greg sighed with such force and such resentment it was almost a growl. “You know what? I’ll sort him out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. May as well get used to it, right? Besides, you’ll get distracted and spend hours cuddling it.” Greg stood up with a forced smile. “I’ll be back soon. Stay comfortable.”

“He likes belly scratches!” Mycroft called, just as the door closed behind Greg.

Ryan stood expectantly by the door, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Shut up,” Greg growled. “Just because you’ve been neutered, doesn’t mean you get to ruin it for the rest of us.”

Ryan made a sound that Greg guessed was the vocal equivalent of an eye roll for an alpaca. 

“He spoils you, you know that,” Greg muttered disdainfully as he led the alpaca into its room. “He’s going away next month and if you keep acting up, I won’t hesitate to tie you to the fence in the back.”

Ryan was unimpressed by the threat. He trotted past Greg into his room, leapt up onto the bed, and lay down. His eyes remained wide open, expectant. 

“What now? You want tucking in? A drink of water? Organic carrots?” Ryan hummed. “Yeah, I know. I know what you want.” Greg walked over to the bookshelf and reached for Paradise Lost, opening it to the bookmarked page. “Only a bit, alright? You want a nice early night. Long day of alpaca things tomorrow, and I’m not getting cockblocked for any longer than necessary.” 

He read about a page and a half of a passage he barely understood, but the alpaca seemed mesmerised, his ears perking up every so often as his eyelids slowly drooped closed. Eventually, Ryan fell asleep completely with a small,  
content smile. 

Greg restrained the small smile that attempted to appear on his face, rolling his eyes, though his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Ryan sleeping. “Don’t think this means I like you,” he whispered. “You’re still a little shit, even if you’re cute when asleep.”

He stroked the soft coat of Ryan’s back then left the room, leaving the door open two inches so that a stream of light came through. It wouldn’t do to have an alpaca plagued by nightmares on his hands.

~

At first, taking care of Ryan without Mycroft was a breeze. He left Ryan out in the garden when he went to work, to stroll and play and eat grass to his content, then gave him company and cleaned up his messes in the evening. He even found himself growing fond of the creature, the way he’d use his head to roll a football across the garden and play ‘catch’ with Greg, his soft humming noise that he made when eating an especially good patch of grass. And Ryan seemed to hate Greg a little less too, spitting on him and biting his fingers far less. On Wednesday, he was even in a good enough mood to allow Sherlock and John to visit and dote on him with attention without lashing out. Or rather, John doted on him, Sherlock observed from afar with a scowl.

“And now you’ve become attached to it too,” Sherlock huffed, to which John responded with a grin. “Honestly, what’s the point in trying to wreak havoc with an alpaca when all it does is make people _soft._”

The comment nearly flew over Greg’s head, distracted as he was by Ryan’s happy purrs when John stroked him, but then some small part of his brain caught on. “What’s that’s supposed to mean? I thought he got it from the Canadian ambassador?” 

“He did. At my request:”

“What?!”

“He owed me a favour. My intention was that Mycroft would get confused and disgusted in the presence of this animal, rather than for him to completely lose his mind over it,” Sherlock explained. Greg’s eyes widened. “And before you get angry, it’s John’s fault too.”

“Hang on, don’t drag me into this!” John exclaimed. “All I did was suggest he try pranking Mycroft instead of... sacrificing the safety of the government’s secret documents out of spite. I thought he’d try the usual stuff - pen moustaches, cling film on the toilet, that kind of thing. He’s the one who took it to the next level.”

“He’s a Holmes, what else would he do?!” After all, Mycroft was the one who brought the alpaca home with him and became completely devoted to it overnight. Just one of the many extreme reactions Greg has had to mitigate. 

“Good point.”

“So, this whole time, Ryan has been kicking me, spitting on me, ruining my houseplants, because of a prank?!”

“Yes.”

Greg could do nothing for a moment but freeze, seething with rage and confusion. Then he looked over at Ryan, who was completely oblivious to this revelation, watching a butterfly go by, and he realised that it made no difference whether Ryan came from Sherlock’s poorly-planned antics or a generous Canadian politician or the goodness of Mycroft’s heart. In a way, he was a part of the family now.

Greg shook his head. “Never mind. Just Don’t tell Mycroft.”

Sherlock scoffed. “What did I say? _Soft.”_

Their routine continued as normal for a while. Except, Greg started to notice strange changes in Ryan’s behaviour: he ate less and less, turning his nose up even at his favourite turnip dish; he struggled to sleep, often waking Greg up in the early hours of the morning with a shrill call; he didn’t even play without quickly losing energy and having to lie down. Though this made him nervous, he simply assumed it was because he missed Mycroft and murmured a sympathetic “me too, mate.” But when Greg noticed the alpaca losing weight quickly, his concern grew to anxiety, then to fears, and he didn’t hesitate to call the vet over to the house.

“You do realise my speciality is _actual_ pets,” the vet when she arrived, deadpan. “Guinea pigs, dogs, cats. Not llamas.”

“He’s an alpaca, actually. And what’s the difference? An animal’s an animal. Just tell me what’s wrong!” He softened his voice when he realised that he had been yelling in his frustration and nervousness. “Please.”

The vet sighed and knelt beside Ryan, inspecting his coat, his pulse, his temperature, asking various questions about Ryan’s symptoms, until he sat back with a grim expression. “Well, I can tell you now that it’s not a physical illness.”

The tension in Greg’s stomach eased slightly. “Oh. That’s good news, right? It’ll go away soon.”

“Well, it is certainly curable, but it probably won’t be easy. You see, I’ve seen this behaviour in other animals who are sociable by nature,” the vet explained. “Alpacas belong in a herd, with others of its kind. Otherwise, their loneliness can lead to problems with their immune systems, sleep cycles, and the like.” 

“But - but I’ve been playing with him!” Greg protested. “I read to him, and talk to him about my day.” _I let Mycroft down. I let Ryan down. What did I do wrong?_

“Not good enough,” the vet shook his head. “You’ll either have to get him a companion or return him back to his herd.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d imagine her immune system would simply... shut down. A week, at most.”

When the vet left, Greg crouched by Ryan, softly stroked his fur, which had grown coarse and dull over the last three week. “Sorry, mate. We let you down. But I’ll make it right. I promise.”

Then he rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the phone number off the fridge.

~

After a long, hot month in India, away from home with limited time and means for communication, and a tedious flight home, Mycroft wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside Greg and sleep for a solid day or two. He dumped his suitcase by the door with uncharacteristic carelessness and made his way into the living room, planning to collapse onto the sofa until he had enough energy to make his way upstairs to bed. Except, he ended up stood dead in his tracks in the doorway. 

“Gregory. Please tell me I’m not hallucinating.”

Greg looked up from where he was watching tv with a smile. “Oh, hello, love. You’re home late. No, I don’t think you’re hallucinating.”

“Really? Because I swear I left home with one alpaca.” He happened to say this because at that moment, sitting beside Greg on the sofa, Mycroft saw Ryan asleep, his head resting on the body of another, smaller alpaca, also asleep. “So unless I’m seeing double...”

“You’re not. I had to call the vet while you were away. Ryan wasn’t eating or sleeping, and it turns out all he needed was a friend. So I rang the Canadian ambassador, asked for another one and - “ he gestured to the animals next to him. “Here we are. You’re not mad are you?”

“Mad? How can I be?” Mycroft said softly, so full of love he was sure he would burst. “I’m fairly sure you saved Ryan’s life.”

Greg shrugged modestly. “‘S nothing.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” Mycroft said, making his way onto the sofa, where he curled up beside Greg and kissed him tenderly. “It means everything to me. I know these last couple of months haven’t been easy, and you and Ryan haven’t exactly been... the best of pals. So the fact you’d go through this effort to keep Ryan safe and happy for me means more than I could ever say.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t just for you. Believe it or not, he has grown on me.”

“Yes,” Mycroft murmured, looking over at the sweet, sleeping figure beside them. “I can very well believe it. So what have you named - her?”

“Yep, it’s a her. Her name is Evangeline. Evangeline Lily.”

“Another Canadian philanthropist?”

Greg hesitated. “Uh - sure. I think so.”

Mycroft decided not to inform him that he had watched Definitely, Maybe on the flight to India, and now knew that Ryan Reynolds was no philanthropist, and was fairly certain there was no such person as Evangeline Lily. However, he had no doubt that the Evangeline Lily in this room would bring just as much happiness and benefit as any philanthropist. 

~

**To: SHolmes@email.co.uk**

**From: GaryCal@canadamail.com**

**Re: updates on favour **

**Your brother’s spouse has recently ordered another placement. It appears Mycroft isn’t the only one won over by the alpaca’s charms! **

**If you and your partner would like one for yourselves, don’t hesitate to ask!**

**Regards**

**Gary Cal, ambassador,**

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter if you want - @221carnations


End file.
